


Caution: Hot Stuff

by pnt_boi



Category: Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Artist!Luigi, Barista!Waluigi, Coffeeshop AU, Daisy is an ace lesbian, Deaf Character, Deaf!Peach, Luigi is Gay, M/M, Mario is probably straight because he's trash, Modern AU, Peach is pan and beautiful, Queer Character, Waluigi? Bisexual., also they're all trans so write that down, starving artist AU, uh Yoshi is a dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pnt_boi/pseuds/pnt_boi
Summary: when Luigi quits his job as a plumber to carry out his lifelong dream of becoming an artist, he begins to take refuge in a local coffee shop. the coffee is good, but will the hot barista behind the counter distract Luigi from pursuing his art? Or will he become the muse Luigi never knew he needed?





	1. Chapter One.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeadApple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadApple/gifts), [vampirecult](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampirecult/gifts).



> my roommates are enablers

Luigi scrutinizes the brick building in front of him. When Peach asked to meet him at a coffee shop to catch up, he hadn’t exactly been expecting… this.

It’s a squat building compared to the others on the street, rising to maybe half the height of the building bracketing either side of it. The exterior is obviously brick, but it has been painted over in a soft, pastel purple. A large, flashing sign hangs in the window, proclaiming, Waluigi's Cafe in a harsh shade of yellow. Sitting in front the bay window is a small scattering of patio tables and chairs.

At one of the tables sits a young blonde woman, nose buried in her phone. Her ponytail hangs over her eyes and blocks most of her face. Luigi doesn’t have to see her face to know that it’s exactly who he came here to see; Peach’s exclusively pink outfits always give up her identity at first glance.

The crossing signal switches to walk, and Luigi is instantly bounding across the road towards his lifelong friend.

Peach raises her eyes to scan her surroundings, and it doesn’t take long for her to spot Luigi among the thin crowd. Her lips stretch into a grin. As soon as Luigi is within an arm’s length, she sweeps him into her arms in greeting.

They pull apart from each other. Still smiling, Peach’s hands begin to move.

“I’ve been waiting here for so long, you jerk!” she signs, but the anger doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Luigi wills his face to look more apologetic than he actually is (he can’t count how many times Peach had left him waiting before lunch dates and class meetings back in high school, and they both know it). “I’m sorry! I got hung up at work.” 

Peach rolls her eyes. “Right. I forgot the noble job of a plumber can be so demanding.”

“I have something to tell you about that, actually,” Luigi signs, sheepish. “Let’s go in. I’ll tell you after we get our coffee.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Peach lets herself be herded into the coffee shop and into their place at the back of the line without protest.

Luigi studies the menu a little too closely to be normal. He knows he’s being obvious; he’s always been awful at keeping secrets from Peach, even if it’s just for a moment. She’s always had a way of getting under his skin and into his mind with a single look.

A few moments later, Peach nudges Luigi with her elbow. He tears his eyes away from the espresso menu to meet her gaze.

“Do you see the cashier?” she signs.

Luigi furrows his brows, shaking his head. “No. Why?”

Peach presses her lips together and shrugs. “No reason.” She glances back at the menu. “Will you order me a hot chocolate with caramel syrup? I’m going to head to the restroom. Thanks!”

Before Luigi has time to stop her, Peach has darted off towards the bathrooms on the complete other side of the shop. Luigi frowns at the empty space she has left beside him and distantly wonders how he ended up with the best friend that he did.

Luigi is only broken from his momentary stupor by the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. He jumps, turning back towards the front of the line. Which has completely depleted since in the few moments it’s been since Peach’s dramatic exit.

Blushing, Luigi steps closer to the counter. His eyes frantically return to the menu board, realizing that he had been staring at it for a few minutes without actually ever deciding on what he wanted to order. “Sorry,” he says. “I zoned out a little there.”

The laugh he receives in return is full, and it makes him take pause. “You’re totally fine,” the cashier says. “Happens to the best of us.”

Luigi lets his eyes drift down from the board to finally take in the cashier. It only takes one look for Luigi to completely lose his ability to function.

The man behind the counter is staggeringly tall; of course, Luigi is a pretty short guy in the first place, but this man would probably be a giant by normal standards, anyway. He’s a bit on the lankier side, with long, gangly limbs and sharp joints to go with them. His shoulders are tight and drawn closer to his jaw than they probably should be. And, speaking of his jaw, jesus christ. Luigi has never seen a more distinct (or more attractive, to be honest) jawline in his life. A thin mustache takes up residence just below the man’s hooked nose. Dark circles fill in the space underneath his eyes.

“Um…” the man says, sheepish.

Luigi wheezes.

(It probably doesn’t help that the shop colors -- dark purple layered underneath a shade closer to lilac -- look so damn good on this man; Luigi has always been a sucker for aesthetically pleasing color schemes, but he’s never quite liked purple as much as he does right now.)

“Do you need help deciding? Or--”

“No!” Luigi finally regains his voice. “No, sorry. It’s… I guess it’s just one of those days.” The sound he makes is more of a cough than the chuckle it is supposed to be. “Anyway, uh, could I just have an americano and… a hot chocolate? With caramel sauce?”

The man’s face relaxes into a smirk. “Of course. Is that all?”

And an inhaler, Luigi thinks as he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yep. That’ll be it.”

The man punches a few buttons on the cash register and rattles off the total. As Luigi fishes a few bills out of his wallet, he hears the man sputter a laugh.

At Luigi’s curious look, the man’s blush only grows darker. “Sorry, it’s just… your friend, I guess? She’s making some pretty great faces at you.” He takes the money from him, jerking his head towards the back of the cafe.

Sure enough, there Peach is, waggling the hell out of her eyebrows and throwing a few ludicrous winks towards the two of them. Luigi feels his face heat up.

“I am so sorry,” he huffs, his voice tinted with laughter. “I really can’t take her anywhere.”

The man shrugs, handing over his change. “It’s fine. I have a best friend, too; I completely understand.”

Luigi smiles.

“Well, have a nice day,” the man says. Luigi nods, stuffing his change in the tip jar without a second thought.

“You too.”

Luigi wastes no time scurrying to where Peach has nestled into a booth, still making an ass of herself. He swats at her. “Are you serious?”

Peach doesn’t even respond, really; she just spends a completely too-long stretch of time laughing her ass off and wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes. Luigi doesn’t even try to talk to her until both of their drinks have been called.

Even then, she’s just laughing into her mug of hot chocolate.

“Will you quit that?” Luigi signs, his frustration turning from joking serious. Americanos don’t taste quite as good when the hot cashier guy keeps glancing over at you because of your best friends excessive snorting.

Peach frowns, still biting back giggles. “Whatever, lover boy.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I just ordered a coffee from the guy; I didn’t propose to him.” Luigi sees the man not-so-secretly staring at them from behind the counter and bites his tongue to distract himself. 

“Right,” Peach signs, smirking. “Because you guys didn’t have huge boners for each other --”

“Oh my god!” falls from Luigi’s mouth before he even realizes it. He scans the area around them, but the only person he catches watching them is the man behind the counter again. He blushes, returning to wiping down the counter and resolutely not looking at the duo. Luigi rights himself and signs, “Peach, what the hell? You can’t just say that kind of stuff. We’re in public.”

Peach rolls her eyes. “Because you were both so discreet when you were talking to each other.” She levels him with a strong glare. “I couldn’t hear a thing you were saying, and I could tell that you were making a dick of yourself.”

Luigi did not come here to be called out like this.

He signs as much to Peach, who scoffs and slaps her hands together. “Whatever. Didn’t you say you had something to tell me?”

Oh, right, Luigi thinks. He did have something to tell her. He wonders for a moment if obsessing over him blubbering at Attractive Coffee Guy would be less stressful than what he wanted to talk about. 

“Right,” Luigi signs. “I. Well. It’s not a big deal.”

Peach lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow, challenging. “Sure. Not a big deal.” Her fingers practically drip with sarcasm.

“It isn’t,” he swears. “It’s a big change, but it’s not a big deal.”

He sucks in a steadying breath, still under Peach’s watchful (and kind of judgemental) eye. 

“I was late this morning because…” He pauses until Peach prods him with a single pastel fingernail. “I quit my job.”

Peach’s eyes grow. “Are you serious?”

At Luigi’s hesitant nod, she clambers to her feet and crawls directly onto him, wrapping her arms around his head and squishing it into her shoulder. He laughs against her shirt and lets himself be coddled for a moment before she drags his head back to smack a wet kiss onto his forehead. 

“Beautiful!” she signs, hands moving rapidly. “Perfect! Wonderful! I’m so proud!”

He pushes her off of his lap, biting his lip to keep his giddy laughter at bay. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Really! I can’t believe you actually did it!” 

Luigi shrugs. “I was just sick of it,” he signs. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I was bored.”

“As you should have been”. Peach shoves at his shoulder. “Do you know how awful it was to see you suffering in that stupid plumber job when you have so much talent and passion for literally everything that isn’t plumbing?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious! You’re going to pursue art, right? You didn’t quit to become a lawyer or something, right?”

Luigi nods. “Yeah. I mean, I’m probably going to have to pick up some kind of part time job to pay bills and stuff, but I’m going to try to focus on art.”

Peach’s grin is probably taking up half of her face at this point. She smacks another kiss to his hairline, but this time it’s mostly just her pressing her smile to his skin. “I’m so happy for you,” she signs. “You’re going to be such a great artist.”

“If I don’t end up homeless and starving,” he signs.

“Oh, shut up. You’ll be living in my spare bedroom before you’re on the streets, dumbass.” 

Luigi bites his lip. He feels a lot of ecstatic energy building up in his chest and threatening to spill over; he had been pretty sure that Peach would support his life change, but it was never a sure thing with her. She was logical most of the time, but her idealistic side had a tendency to shine through when it came to passions. (Of course it did. Peach, herself, had dreams of opening her own beauty shop one day. With as many times as her own teachers and parents had warned her of the less rewarding possible outcomes of that particular profession, she was bound to build up a kind of spiteful idealism.)

He reaches out and shoves her shoulder. “You jerk.”

“Yeah, whatever. I love you, too.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to my weekend in which I spent like eight hours playing Super Mario 3D World as Luigi and caught the Lugo bug for the first time. also shout out to em, the one kudos I have on this fic. what a guy.

It doesn’t take another twenty-four hours before Luigi is back in Waluigi’s Cafe.

He’s alone this time; Peach decided to work over her lunch break today, and she probably doesn’t even know he’s here. (He says probably because sometimes Peach just instinctively knows things about him. It should make him more uncomfortable than it actually does.)

Luigi pushes the door open with his shoulder, his arms full of his laptop bag and sketchpad. Sure, he mostly came here to scope out the hot barista again, but he also needs to get some work done. If he’s really going to drop the rest of his life to become an artist, he needs to do it properly. Which includes growing a mild caffeine addiction and working until he falls asleep on top of whatever he’s drawing.

There isn’t a line today -- it’s too late to be the morning rush and too early for the lunch one -- so he has a full view of the barista behind the counter even from the doorway.

Lucky him, it’s the same man in all of his attractive glory. Luigi smiles at him, biting down the urge to faint when he smiles back and approaching the counter with as much confidence in his stride as he can manage.

“You’re back!”

Luigi nods, setting his sketchbook down on the counter and readjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Yeah. Couldn’t get enough, I suppose.”

“We do have pretty good coffee.”

“Oh, for sure.” Luigi doesn’t tell him it wasn’t the coffee he couldn’t get enough of.

“So, what’ll it be today?”

Luigi rakes his eyes over the menu. He’s awful at making choices, especially those pertaining to caffeine. He sighs. “What do you recommend?”

The man’s smile grows. “Oh, I’m not much for coffee, to be honest.”

Luigi pauses. “And you work at a coffee shop?”

“Something like that,” the man says laughing. “I dunno, I’ve always liked the idea of coffee, but I could never get into it. Makes me kind of sick to be honest.”

“Then… I suppose, I’ll just have a hot chocolate.”

The man’s smile wrinkles the bridge of his nose as he says, “That’s a choice I can get behind.” He pulls a paper cup from the stack nearby and uncaps a marker he had tucked away in his apron. “Can I get your name?” His hand is posed at the ready.

Luigi scrunches his eyebrows. He hadn’t asked for a name yesterday when the place was packed, but now, in the emptiness of a Tuesday’s mid-morning, he asks for one? Part of him wonders it it’s protocol and part of him wonders if the man was just curious. “Luigi,” he says despite himself.

The man looks pleasantly surprised as he scribbles the name onto the cup. “Hm. Small world, I guess.” He sets the cup down with a loud, hollow sound and caps the marker. “Mine name’s not too far off from yours.”

Luigi quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, punching numbers on the register. “I’m Waluigi.”

He balks. “Waluigi? Like, the guy this store is named after?”

Waluigi’s cheeks flush. “Oh, uh. Yeah. It’s kind of my store.” He chuckles. “I really regret the name, but, you know, once you’ve got a following, it’s kind of too late to change it.”

Luigi laughs but cuts himself off. “Wait. You hate coffee, but you own a coffee shop?”

“Co-own, technically.” He shrugs. “But, yeah. My best friend and I started this together -- I was more of the pastry guy at first, she was into coffee. She decided my name was a better fit for a store name than hers was which is so not true.” He taps the marker against the counter. “I would much rather go to Daisy’s Coffee than Waluigi’s Coffee.”

“I don’t know,” Luigi says with a chuckle. “It’s got a ring to it.”

Waluigi scoffs. “Sure. If you say so.”

Shaking his head, Luigi reaches for his wallet. “What do I owe you?”

Waluigi shakes his head, waving him off. “On the house,” he says. “If we’re gonna have a new regular, we ought to treat him right.” When he sees Luigi’s mouth open to protest, he insists, “No. Really. It’s fine.”

Luigi digs his teeth into his lip, willing himself not to say something embarrassing. He nods after a moment, saying, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem.” Waluigi scoops up his cup from the counter and eyes Luigi. “I’ll get right on your drink if you wanna go ahead and have a seat.”

Luigi moves away from the counter, lips still stretched into a grin, and he surveys the room. He wonders, for a moment, if it’s too clingy to sit at the counter next to Waluigi. Shaking the thought from his head, he realizes that, if he wants to get work done, sitting next to that tree of a man isn’t going to do him any good.

He moves to a booth on the far wall of the narrow cafe; he’s still completely in view of the counter, and they could probably hold a not too awkward conversation from this distance if they wanted to, but it’s far enough away that he’ll still be able to get some work done. Probably.

Luigi settles into the seat, spreading his stuff across the table surface. He figures he’ll get set up while he’s waiting for his drink, so he starts digging through his laptop bag for his pen bag.

A few long moments of organizing his pencils and pens by type and color later, he hears a cough come from the end of his table. He looks up to see Waluigi standing there, a paper cup in each hand, smiling nervously.

“Um. Sorry if this is stupid,” Waluigi says, his eyes darting all around Luigi. His voice is this a mixture of hesitant and dejected; like his brain is already telling him that, yes, whatever it is he’s doing here is stupid. “But I wanted to ask if… if it was okay if I joined you for a minute? It’s my break and… it gets kind of boring sitting behind a counter all the time, you know? But, I mean. No pressure! If you’re busy, I can just--”

“No!” Luigi cuts him off. “No, you’re fine. Please, sit down.”

Something akin to hope flashes across Waluigi’s face, but it’s gone as soon as it’s there.

Waluigi sets one cup in front of Luigi, carefully placing it away from his open sketchpad but still close enough for him to reach it, and sets the other cup across from him. He slides into the opposite side of the booth, his knobby knees hitting against the table legs.

“So,” Waluigi says after the pleather of the seats stop squeaking. “You’re an artist?”

Scoffing, Luigi shakes his head. “Hardly.”

“What do you mean hardly?” Waluigi’s eyes narrow at the different pens and pencils splayed across the table. “I’m not an expert, but I don’t think people who aren’t artists own that many different kinds of wood pencils.”

Luigi snorts. “You got me there. I guess I mean… I’m hardly a professional artist. I haven’t actually made money from my art since high school.”

“That can’t have been too long ago.”

“It’s been long enough,” Luigi insists, but there’s a smile on his face. “I feel like I haven’t picked up a pencil that wasn’t filling in a form in eons.”

It’s Waluigi’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, I know what that feels like.” He takes a long sip from his coffee cup. “I used to do my fair share of creative stuff, but then Daisy and I started this shop and… I’m not sure I could draw anything that wasn’t a coffee bean anymore.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Luigi says. He bounces the eraser of his pencil against the table for a second. “When I first started working for my older brother, I don’t think I drew a damn thing for… a year and a half?”

Waluigi whistles. “What do you do with your brother?”

“I’m a plumber.” Luigi backtracks, “Or, I was. I actually quit yesterday.”

“Are you serious?” Waluigi asks, his eyebrows reaching up towards his hairline. “Why?”

Luigi shrugs. “I hated it. I’ve always wanted to do art full time, and I guess I kind of just realized that I could. That the only thing really stopping me from quitting and doing what I loved was me. So… I went into work yesterday and quit on the spot.”

Waluigi is seemingly frozen in shock.

“Sorry,” Luigi mutters. “That’s probably a lot of information to tell someone I just met.”

“No!” Waluigi is quick to reassure. “No, I guess I just don’t know what to say. That. That’s so amazing that you did that.” He laughs, using one hand to lift the soft purple ball cap from his head and the other to comb through his hair. “I don’t think I could ever work up the guts to do something like that.”

Luigi shrugs. “I don’t really think it was me being brave so much as me being tired of my brother bossing me around to no end.”

Humming in agreement, Waluigi says, “I know what that can be like. I’ve got my fair share of asshole family members.”

“God, it sucks, doesn’t it?” Luigi scratches the back of his neck. “Being obligated to love people really gets on my nerves, to be honest.”

Waluigi smiles at him and lets a small, comfortable silence pass between them before he continues speaking. “Do. Do you have anything in your sketchbook yet?”

Blushing, Luigi’s hands immediately go to rest over the open page of his sketchbook. “I mean, I have a couple doodles in here, but nothing serious or anything. It’s been difficult for me to actually get invested in a drawing while I was so busy with work and all.”

“Can I see one?”

Luigi raises his gaze to meet Waluigi’s, taking a moment to properly size him up before (almost instantly) relenting. “Yeah, but, I mean, don’t expect them to be, like, good or anything. Like I said, they’re mostly just sketches and doodles or whatever,” he babbles, sliding the book across the table to rest in front of Waluigi. “It’s not, like, professional stuff or anything.”

Waluigi waves him off. “Yeah, yeah. I can judge them for myself.”

Luigi watches on nervously as the man across from him starts flipping through the early pages of his sketchbook. Waluigi is taking his time looking through them, basking in every page as if they were framed and hung up in some gallery and not on the discolored pages of a sketchbook Luigi bought at some big box craft store. He watches as Waluigi stops on one drawing -- some rough still life of a bouquet of flowers he had done over a month ago, now -- to runs his fingers across the edges of the page.

When Waluigi doesn’t turn the page for a long moment, Luigi breaks the silence, “Geez, I did that one a while ago, it was just… See, my friend’s a florist and he wanted some kind of --”

“This is… good,” Waluigi murmurs, fingers still gliding along the page, being careful not to smudge the pencil marks any more than they already are. “Like… really good.” He eyes Luigi, who is doing his best to keep his eyes glued to the table and away from Waluigi’s. “Did you go to school for art?”

Luigi barks a laugh, “God, no. The most art education I’ve ever had were my high school art classes. I didn’t go to college or anything.”

Even though he’s still not daring to meet Waluigi’s eyes, Luigi can feel himself being sized up -- almost like he, himself, is a paint-splattered canvas and Waluigi is appraising him, sure to catalogue every detail and every spark of color. Luigi’s sure that the only color he’s really giving off at the moment is bright red -- staining his cheeks and the round of his ears.

“You’re really talented,” Waluigi says slicing through the thick quiet of the air between them. He chuckles absently. “Like, so talented. I would have thought you were professionally trained if you hadn’t told me, Luigi. These are amazing.”

Suddenly, Luigi is very fascinated with a small chip of wood stain that is peeling off the table.

“I… I’m sorry if that’s, like, overstepping or whatever. I just wanted you to know.”

The bell above the door chimes and in walks a gangly new customer. Waluigi begins to push the sketchbook back towards Luigi. “Seriously, though. You’ve got this whole… freelance artist thing in the bag.”

Waluigi is pushing himself onto his feet and brushing the back of his jeans off before Luigi manages to choke out the words, “Thank you.”

Instead of responding, Waluigi just manages to blind him with a striking glint of a grin and a wink before he’s off across the cafe and ducking behind the counter. Luigi watches him go and doesn’t quite stop watching him until after the newest cafe patron has his drink and Waluigi has resorted to leaning his hip on the counter and clicking his nails against the linoleum top.

Most people, upon seeing Luigi’s work, would compliment him or say a few pretentious but kind things about the symbolism of his color choice and general drawing style and what that meant in terms of his talent, but none of them had ever left Luigi quite so… flustered. Waluigi’s feedback had threw him off guard just a little, making his heart pound and ache and his lungs start to constrict and his vision kind of turn blurry. It was like he had been swept in a tornado, -- a really warm and tender tornado, -- spun around a few times, and gently placed back on earth with a wobble in his stride and a dizzy head.

Luigi wonders if maybe Waluigi is just a generally kind and encouraging person. If, just maybe, he would say things like that to anyone who flipped open their notebooks and let him glance at a few pages. It wasn’t entirely impossible; for the scant time Luigi had been in his acquaintance, Waluigi had been nothing but sweet and considerate.

 

Luigi does his best to shake out that line of thought. How could hollow praise amount to the array of intense emotion rising up in Luigi’s chest? And, regardless, if Waluigi was the kind of person that would wax poetic about art he actually thought was mediocre, then Luigi thinks that’s sweet. It’s completely useless in terms of feedback but sweet.

Luigi dares to glance over at Waluigi, whose eyes quickly flit away from his. He tries not to wonder if Waluigi had been looking at him the whole time as heat rushes up his neck and onto his cheeks and ears.

He attempts to shake the thought from his head as he flips his sketchbook open to the next blank page. Luigi lets his hands move of their own accord, plucking a pencil from his bag and getting to work before his brain can say otherwise. It takes a few long moments for him to properly get into the grove of the piece; his eyes still fight to stay glued to Waluigi who has busied himself by wiping down the machines and resolutely not making eye contact with Luigi.

Something like an hour passes before Luigi realizes what he’s drawing. Or, well, who he’s drawing.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Staring back at him with rough, penciled eyes is the man himself in all of his tall purple glory.

That’s when Luigi realizes just how gone he is.


End file.
